


Lightning Affinity

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Anxiety, Blood, Gen, Mystical Heritage, Playing Fast And Loose With Pathfinder Mechanics Like One Does, Scars, Storms, That All Sounds Worse Than It Is, some canon typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: Lightning has been drawn to Cel ever since they were born, just as Cel has always been drawn to lightning. They've never questioned why until now.
Relationships: Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom & Zolf Smith, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom
Comments: 20
Kudos: 35





	Lightning Affinity

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about because of two things. One, me wondering just *why* Cel crackles and thinking up fun theories for it. Two: Episode 162 coming out and hearing Cel's enthusiastic joy over having lightning elementals on the ship. I started plotting out this fic the same day.

If anyone asked young Cel what their favorite season was, they would have said summer. Not that the other seasons were _bad_ , they’d be quick to say. Winter meant spending most of their time indoors, but there was also snow to play in, and of course Midwinter with its exchanging of gifts. Spring was full of rain, but also flowers and the return of interesting bugs and the nightly chorus of spring peepers from the woods by their home. Fall was Cel’s second favorite season, when the leaves changed color, when the apples in the orchard were as crisp the breezes that blew through the town.

But summer. _Summer._ Summer was warm, was made for running through the grass barefoot, for swimming, for catching fireflies in their cupped hands, wondering what made them glow. Most of all, summer meant thunderstorms, meant lightning crackling across the sky in brilliant flashes. Cel could spend hours watching the lightning from their bedroom window instead of sleeping, face nearly pressed to the glass. They had even snuck out of the house once or twice during storms, and considered the scolding they had gotten for doing so more than worth it, just to feel the electricity in the air.

It’s not storming now, the sky nearly cloudless and the air lacking that tingling feeling of anticipation. Instead the heat of the day is cooled slightly by the breezes of twilight. Cel is in their most favorite place, the highest branch of an apple tree that had been struck by lightning the day they were born. The tree had been deeply scarred but had not died, instead bearing fruit that Cel swore tasted different from any other apple, more tangy and tart. They’re surrounded by apples, still green and unripe, but the temptation to pick one or two is still there. Instead, Cel looks through the branches at the slowly fading light shining off the copper lightning rod attached to the roof of their house.

It’s not unusual for their home to have a lightning rod, most of the houses along the seaside cliffs do. What _is_ unusual is that no one in the village has to replace their lightning rod at the end of every summer like Cel’s family does. Lightning strikes their home more than any other, and it is a rare year when they don’t find the rod broken after the last storms of summer have rolled past. There are some in town who say it’s the work of one of the gods, Poseidon most likely, or Zeus, that the family must have done something to draw the god’s attention. But Cel’s father is often away at sea, and the ship he is on experiences no more trouble with storms than any other. Cel’s mother simply says it’s a mystery. America is full of mysteries, full of pockets of wild magic that cause trees to walk and animals to become giants. That their house is plagued by lightning is a minor mystery at best.

Cel climbs down the tree as quickly as they had gone up it, taking a moment to rest their hands on the scarred bark. The place where the lightning had struck is always warm, even in winter, and makes Cel’s hands tingle in a pleasant way as they go running off into the nearby woods. They have to be home before dark, but thanks to summer’s twilight it’s not dark _yet_. There’s plenty of time to grab themselves a handful of blackberries before bed.

A flash of light catches Cel’s attention as they run, causing them to skid to a halt to turn and look. There’s a little ball of light floating silently maybe ten feet away from them, about the size of their fist, flickering blue and white in the almost darkness, almost too bright to look at.

Cel tilts their head. “Hello?” Cel says in English. Cel talks to most things, bugs and frogs and rocks and trees. Someday they will learn _all_ the languages so they can talk to _everything. “_ What are you? Wait, that’s rude, you might be a spirit or a little glowing _person_ or something. I’m sorry. _Who_ are you?”

The ball of light continues to hover silently, and as Cel watches it splits in two.

“Oh, that’s a neat trick!” Cel grins in delight, they can’t _wait_ to write this down later. They’ll do a drawing too, but there’s no way that they’re going to be able to copy the bright way this possible creature shines. “Are you—“ They switch over to Elvish, in case maybe what’s in front of them understands that instead. “Are you a will o’ the wisp? I’m not supposed to follow will o’ the wisps. Except you don’t seem to be trying to lead me anywhere.”

The two balls drift nearer.

“In fact you’re coming _closer._ ” Cel hears a faint crackling sound as the air around them takes on a smell like just before a thunderstorm. Their grin widens. “Wait, are you _lightning?_ ” They take a step closer and reach out a hand. “I didn’t know lightning could just float around like this!”

One of the lightning balls suddenly darts forward, making contact with Cel’s outstretched hand. There’s a flash of bright light that makes Cel shut their eyes as a painful tingling travels up their arm. They let out a squeak of surprise as they stumble backwards, blinking back tears. By the time the afterimages clear from their vision, they’re alone in the woods again.

“Owww.” Cel shakes their still tingling arm, wondering if the lightning ball had just attacked them or if it had been trying to say hello the only way it could. Either way, it was an exciting new discovery!

———

The first time Cel is struck by lightning, they don’t even realize what’s happened at first.

It’s understandable really. There’s so much else going on besides the wind and the rain, the crashing of thunder and the flashes of lightning. People shouting, the clang of weapons, the warm, thick trickle of blood running down Cel’s side. It’s going into their boot, and that’s irritating. Never mind the fact that they’re out of healing potions, or that their vision seems to be pulsing in time with their heart, or that their heavy crossbow feels so much heavier suddenly. There is blood in their boot and it’s all _squishy._

When Cel had wandered into the small southern town of Riverton three days ago, the townspeople had looked at Cel with haunted, hopeful eyes. It turned out that Cel’s reputation had proceeded them. Not as the monster who killed other monsters, but as the person who had built defenses for countless towns along the coast, who protected those who needed protecting. And oh, how these people had needed protection. Not from the local wildlife, which Cel would have actually preferred, but a very large, more clever and ruthless than most group of bandits who had been killing anyone who tried to stop them taking what they wanted.

Cel hates when it’s people. When it’s fauna, or megafauna, or mega-megafauna, that’s one thing. They’re animals, unable to go against their instincts. But people… Cel always feels a little betrayed when it’s people. People can _be_ better than this. Cel believes that down deep in their heart of hearts. People can be better.

Cel reaches for the last bottle on their belt, the one containing the mutagen they had just brewed this morning. They should have drunk it when the fighting had first started perhaps, but they had been optimistic that maybe the bandits could be driven off by simple violence and by threats. They hope their hesitancy has not cost any of the townspeople their lives. It’d also be nice if it didn’t cost Cel their own.

Cel has always prided themself on their dexterity. They’re only a little stronger than average, and they don’t always make the best first (or second or third) impression on people, but their fingers are quick and clever, able to manipulate even the tiniest of components in their work with ease. There’s no reason that they should have any sort of trouble grabbing the bottle off their belt. Maybe it’s the rain making their hand slippery, or maybe it’s the blood, but either way it goes tumbling through their fingers to land on the ground. Cel swears and begins to bend down to pick it up. It won’t have broken, Cel makes their bottles sturdier than that when they have the time and tools, is very discerning about their glassware when they have to buy it.

It should be impossible to hear the sound of a crossbow being loaded over the wind and the rain, over the thunder grumbling through the sky. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s six crossbows that makes Cel look up just in time to see the unfamiliar, unfriendly faces surrounding them. One of them is smiling, a predator’s victory grin, one Cel has heard described too many times over the past few days. The man goes by the name of Smilin’ John, an unimaginative but apt moniker.

Cel does the math, force and trajectory, rain and wind. The probability of all six crossbow bolts missing them is not zero, but it’s not a very high number. The probability of them finding their bottle of mutagen, uncorking it and drinking it without getting mortally wounded is a much higher number. They slowly straighten, not letting go of their crossbow but not raising it either.

“So _you’re_ the one causing trouble around here,” Smilin’ John says, the grin never leaving his face.

“Me?” Cel raises their eyebrows. “Pretty sure it’s all been you, the way the townspeople tell it. You don’t have to do this, you know. You could leave right now, you and all your friends, find an _honest_ way to get by in life.”

Smilin’ John chuckles. “You don’t have to do this either. You came up with these defenses, right? Can always use a set of clever hands around our place.” His grin grows wider. “Just say the word.”

“Mmmm,” Cel pretends to think it over, tightening the grip on their crossbow ever so slightly. This is the last thing they’re ever going to do more than likely, might as well go out the best they can. “No,” they say as they raise the crossbow as quickly as they’re able with their last bit of strength. “I don’t think I will.”

There’s a flash and everything becomes heat and pain, becomes screaming, becomes light, so much light, all the light in the world.

 _I didn’t think anyone else had bombs_ , Cel has time to think before light and awareness wink out, darkness overtaking them.

An endless time after the darkness there are dreams, old dreams of being held in the heart of a storm, the thunder and wind together a language that Cel feels they should know, that they could learn if only the dreams ever lasted long enough. But this dream fades as they all do, giving way to light. The awareness of light brings the awareness of self with it, brings pain down Cel’s side and burning from their collarbone all the way down their arm to their right hand. The last thing they remember is rain and wind and heat and pain and light bright enough to blind. There’s still heat under their skin, still pain, but the light against their closed eyelids is soft, soft like the bed they’re laying on, soft like the sheets against their skin. Their surroundings smell familiar, old wood and antiseptic, and Cel remembers the small room they had rented above the town doctor’s office, how they had borrowed some of his equipment to do their work.

Cel opens their eyes, turning their head to the side to look at their arm. They’re pleasantly surprised they still _have_ an arm, and that the arm looks intact as far as they can tell, though it’s covered in bandages. Must have been a poor bomb that hit them, if that had even been what happened. It’s definitely been burned, they’ve had enough lab accidents to recognize that deep, aching throb, the feeling that it’s still burning despite all evidence to the contrary. They grit their teeth and wiggle their fingers, grimace turning into a pained smile when their fingers obey them.

Footsteps. A floorboard creaking. Cel manages to lift their head just enough when the door opens to get a look at the doctor standing there with a basin of water in his hands. They think he’s old as humans go, with far more silver in their hair then Cel themself has.

“Is everyone else all right?” Cel’s voice is a dry rasp and they start coughing, which only makes everything hurt worse.

Doc (he’d given no other name upon introduction and Cel hadn’t pried for one) hurriedly sets the basin on a nearby table and pours Cel a glass of water, helping them to sit up. Cel automatically tries to reach for the glass of water with their right hand, but stops almost immediately when this causes a fresh surge of burning pain.

“Is everyone else all right?” Doc echoes. “You’ve been unconscious for just about two days and you’re asking if everyone _else_ is all right?”

“Well yeah,” Cel says. “I mean, I’m alive, so _I’m_ fine. My nervous system is telling me I’m in quite a bit of pain, so obviously _that’s_ still working. And I can do this!” They move the fingers on their right hand, wincing. “I would have been more worried if I had woken up half covered in bandages and _couldn’t_ feel anything. Though now that I know I _can_ feel pain, I think I’ve rather gotten the point and I’d very much like it to stop for awhile.”

“I can give you something to help with that,” Doc says. “And something to eat. Then we can get to talking.”

The broth Doc brings them tastes amazing, as food does when one has had a close call with death. The mostly bitter, mildly sweet dose of clear liquid he gives them for the pain is even better. The pain recedes to a distant, ignorable sensation, and the world goes warm and fuzzy almost immediately.Cel sighs in relief, leaning back against the pillows that are keeping them sitting upright.

“You _must_ teach me how to make this,” Cel says, and Doc chuckles slightly.

“I can do that,” he says. “Once you’ve healed up some. You were in a pretty bad way when you were brought to me.” Doc brings over the basin of water and starts removing the bandages that cover their left side. “To answer your earlier question, there were plenty of injuries and, well, we lost a few folks. Victor, who owned the inn, Zeke, the baker’s son, Jeb, who worked at the general store.”

“I’m sorry,” Cel says softly. Doc shakes his head.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Was worse before you came, no doubt would have been worse without your help. And we won’t have to worry about Smilin’ John or his gang coming around ever again, not after what you did. Mayor took up a collection, to thank you.”

The stab wound in Cel’s side is a deep, angry red, and they’re grateful for the drug that keeps the pain away as Doc washes it gently before applying a sharp smelling ointment. They’re surprised to see that it’s been cauterized closed instead of stitched shut, but they remember how badly they had been bleeding, perhaps there had been no time for anything else. It’s going to be an ugly scar, but they’ll take it over being a corpse.

It takes longer than it normally would for Doc’s words to permeate Cel’s thoughts, but by the time Doc re-bandages their side and moves over to Cel’s right, his words finally manage to register. They don’t ask for money for helping people, they never do, but they don’t refuse it when it’s offered either. Most of it will end up going back to the town when Cel buys supplies before they leave on the next leg of their journey. That’s not the part their mind focuses on. “So I got the shot off before the explosion?”

Doc gives them a puzzled look, hands hovering just over their bandaged shoulder. “Explosion?”

“Well yeah. That’s what it felt like, and I would know. Caused more than a few, gotten caught in a few more. I mean,” Cel gives the tiniest shrug of their injured shoulder. “What caused this then?”

Doc starts undoing the bandages, and even with the drug Cel feels a faint sensation of heat deep under the skin. “I didn’t see it, was too busy tending to the injured, but the way folks are telling it, you called down lightning from the sky to smite Smilin’ John and his gang.”

“I….” Cel blinks, thoroughly confused. “What?”

Doc tells Cel the story the way he had heard it, about how lightning had come to Cel’s aid, striking them just before they fired their crossbow. How the shimmering bolt of pure electricity that had left the bow had hit Smilin’ John before leaping through the air from him to every other member of his gang, killing them all, leaving their charred bodies in a circle around Cel, who had collapsed seconds later.

“Some people say your eyes were glowing like anything before you passed out, but I think that’s just the tale growing taller in the telling.”

Cel shakes their head. “That’s— that wasn’t me.I mean, getting hit by lightning sure, but I can’t just _call_ lightning out of the sky or make it do— any of that! My internal energies go into my potions and explosives and that kind of thing. I can’t _do_ the mystical words and wiggling my fingers sort of magic.” They raise their good hand and wave it around a bit to demonstrate. Nothing happens, thankfully. Cel wasn’t sure what they would have done otherwise.

“You can tell people that,” Doc says. “And some of them might even believe you, but folks love a good story.” He goes back to gently unwinding the bandages that run from Cel’s collarbone to their hand. “For the record, I’m more inclined to think that it was just a freak accident that ended up with an outcome that worked in the town’s favor. I don’t know much about magic, but there’d be less wizards and such about if using magic could wind up nearly killing them any time they did something dramatic. Though in this case the lightning ended up saving your life, and not just from Smilin’ John and his gang.”

“Wait, what?” Cel’s starting to think that maybe they should have held off on taking painkillers until after this conversation. The more Doc talks, the less sense it feels like everything makes.

“Oh, you were halfway to dead when I got to you,” Doc says. “But judging from all the blood soaked into your clothes, that wound in your side was a deep one. Probably would have bled out before I had the chance to stitch you up if that lightning hadn’t hit you. The lightning strike cauterized the wound. Damnedest thing. ‘Course, burned the hell out of your arm. Left its mark on you.”

“I’ll take scars over being dead any day of the week,” Cel says, turning their head to watch the bandages being unwound. They’re not squeamish about seeing their own blood and they’ve taken care of their own minor and not so minor burns. They’re prepared to see their own cracked and burned flesh, that’s nothing they haven’t seen before, though it’s not a pretty sight. What they _aren’t_ prepared for are the lines that run over the skin that hasn’t been burned, traveling from their collarbone all the way down to the back of their hand, white lines with the faintest blue tinge, looking for all the world like lightning streaking down from the sky, branching and jagged and eerily beautiful. “Oh.”

“ _Literally_ left its mark on you,” Doc says. “Seen it before, though usually the marks are red or purple.” He shrugs and dips a fresh cloth into the water to start washing Cel’s burns. “Should fade in a week or so.”

The burns heal well, and the scars left behind go from red and raised to faded and flat over the long years, only noticeable if Cel is really looking for them. The marks from the lightning though, those never fade.

———

When Cel had been rebuilding the ship, they had made sure to put in a lounge area. Nothing big, just a space set aside for people to relax when they were off-shift. There had been a table, a few comfy chairs, nothing fancy. At some point before takeoff though, without anyone’s knowledge, Earhart had filled the space with what was, even to Cel, an excessive amount of explosives. Then again, Cel had never actually laid eyes on a dragon, what they thought was excessive might be woefully small instead. Either way the result was the same, the fact that there was no lounge where someone might be easily found when they were off shift. And Hamid _was_ off shift, Cel had double-checked the work schedule that Zolf had written up.

“Not on deck,” Cel mutters to themself as they walk the corridors of the ship. “Not in the bathing room, or the kobold’s room that the kobolds don’t use. Not in the crow’s nest.” Sparks dance as Cel ticks off every checked place on their fingers. “Didn’t answer when I knocked on his door, which either means he’s not there or he was sleeping or _busy_ and that’s fine, that’s all _fine_ , it can wait, it’s _been_ waiting, well the question part anyway, not this stuff, this is new stuff or old stuff or new old stuff….” Cel trails off even as their thoughts keep spiraling around in their head, even as anxious energy sparks off their skin. They had woken up feeling anxious and off-kilter, and it hadn’t been a surprise to see little arcs of electricity crawling along their skin. The fact that it wasn’t _stopping_ was the surprise.

Maybe Cel should be looking for Zolf. They’re _supposed_ to report weird magical stuff to Zolf, but this isn’t bits of the ship disappearing or things being alive that weren’t before. This is something that’s been happening to Cel for awhile, mostly, though everything has become so much _more_ since getting on the ship. They’re not even sure why they’re upset, except sometimes their mind does this, seizes on a thing and doesn’t let go, and that’s fine when it’s something tangible, something they can fix or build, something with a definite end to it. But this has been their own little personal mystery for years and years, why is it suddenly so important that they try to solve it _now_? Why does it suddenly feel urgent?

“I could wait by his door,” Cel mutters. “No, that’s creepy. I could— leave him a note. Yes!” They start patting their many pockets for a notebook. They always have a notebook on them, even when they’re asleep, Never know when an idea is going to strike. Pens are trickier. Even when Cel clips a pen to the notebook’s cover, the pen still goes missing more often than not. There must be an inter-dimensional pocket where lost pens go, probably next to the one where screws and odd socks end up.

“Cel?”

“Hamid!” Cel whirls around, quest for notebook and pen abandoned. “Little buddy! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“I was just talking to Oscar,” Hamid says, and Cel watches the smile on his face turn into an expression of concern. “Cel, are you all right? You’re… a little more sparky than usual.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Cel says, making a mental note to ask Hamid about Oscar later, when they’re feeling more themself. “Can we go somewhere else? Your room or my room or just really anywhere else we can talk that’s not in the corridor where people can interrupt?”

“Of course.”

They end up in Cel’s room, Hamid in the room’s only chair (bolted to the floor of course) and Cel pacing back and fourth. They had tried sitting in the hammock and that had lasted only a moment before the urge to move had overtaken them again.

“So there’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you, and, well, we’ve both been busy, and it’s a little bit personal, I suppose? And if you don’t want to answer that’s _totally_ fine.”

“Go ahead, Cel,” Hamid encourages gently.

Cel takes a deep breath, tries their best to let it out slowly. “Right. Okay. So. How did you _know_ you were part dragon? Did it happen all at once? Was it a gradual thing?”

Hamid blinks. “For some reason when you said _personal_ , I was imagining a question about my love life or something.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind hearing about that some other time,” Cel says quickly. “But right now just the dragon stuff please, unless that’s too personal. I don’t usually ask people about stuff going on with their bodies, as a rule.”

“Oh it’s fine, I don’t mind,” Hamid assures them. “I _guess_ you could say it was gradual, but a fast sort of gradual? I didn’t start doing magic until I went away to school, but I didn’t know then it wasn’t wizard magic, just that I didn’t have to study spells like the other students did. The physical side of things— I was going to say that started not too long ago, but if you factor in the eighteen months we were gone, then…” Hamid holds up a hand and Cel watches as the fingers elongate into claws, the skin shimmering like burnished brass. “It’s been at least two years since my hands first did this. Used to happen when I was scared. The scales started showing up in Paris, mostly along my neck at first. Cairo… what I learned in Cairo pretty much just confirmed what I suspected by that point. Couple weeks later I was breathing dragon fire when I was angry. At this rate who knows, maybe I’ll fall off the ship and that’s when I’ll suddenly sprout wings.” He smiles a little at that.

“So no… no weird dreams where someone is speaking to you in a language you swear you _almost_ know, that you _should_ know, but you don’t? No—“ Cel lifts a hand up, sparks of lightning climbing up their outstretched fingers. “No spontaneous… in your case it’d be fire, wouldn’t it? You didn’t spend years with tiny flames licking across your skin only to wake up one day as an inferno?”

“No. Cel?” Hamid gets up from his chair and walks over to them. Cel stops pacing. “Cel, do you think you’re a sorcerer? That you have dragon blood in you?”

“I don’t know,” Cel says, shaking their head. “I can’t do magic the way you do, I know that, _that_ hasn’t changed. I’m still all potions and explosives. But something _has_ changed, _is_ changing, has been every since I got on the ship. and I was _really_ hoping that maybe it was some sort of dragon thing, because that’d be cool, right? And you would have already gone through it, and that’d be reassuring. But _this,_ whatever this is, I don’t think it’s that anymore. I don’t know what it is.”

Hamid reaches up to take Cel’s hand, his eyes tightening slightly in a wince when a spark leaps from their hand to his. Still, he doesn’t let go. “Then let’s figure it out. Together.” He smiles. “Guess it’s time for _me_ to ask a question I’ve been meaning to ask. When did you start crackling?”

Cel tells Hamid about the first time they were struck by lightning, about how sparks had started skating across their skin weeks later. For awhile it had only happened during moments of high emotion, anger or fear or excitement. After they had been struck by lightning for the third time it had started happening when they were really focused on something as well.

“After the fifth time it just started happening whenever,” Cel says. They’re both sitting across from each other on the floor, Cel fidgeting with a pen in a vain attempt to give their anxious energy an outlet. “I can’t _make_ it happen, but if I’m thinking about it I can usually make it stop.” They stare down at their hands, watching the sparks dance along their fingers before hitting the leather on their fingerless gloves.

“The fifth time— Cel, how many times have you been hit by lightning?” Hamid looks alarmed.

“Straight on by actual lightning? Seven. I mean, I’ve been shocked by electricity more than that while working on projects, electric eels and small lightning elementals are _feisty_. Oh! And ball lightning, does ball lightning count? Because I’m pretty sure that was the first time I ever got shocked. It’s the first time I remember, anyway.” Just like that, they’re telling that story, telling Hamid about their home and the lightning rods they’d go through every summer, about the tree that’d been struck by lightning the day they were born.

“Some of the people in town thought that the gods hated us, or that lightning itself did,” Cel says, but Hamid shakes his head even before Cel finishes speaking.

“If anything, well, I guess it’d be silly to say that I think lightning _loves_ you. It’s certainly drawn to you. And the way it saved your life the first time you were struck, when it killed all those people, there was definitely a will behind _that_ at the very least. And I think it was yours, whether you knew it or not.”

“Hamid, I don’t do _spells_. I follow formulas, I make potions, I _build_ things.”

Hamid raises his hand as it becomes a claw again. “There are all sorts of things that act like magic that technically aren’t. Like, when dragons fly and breathe fire, they don’t have to cast a spell to do it, they can just _do_ it. Just like I can breathe fire without a spell, maybe you can, I don’t know, control lightning.” He gives Cel a smile. “We could do _experiments.”_

Cel feels themself returning the smile. “We _could_.” Part of them is happy, excited even, but part of them is still anxious. Their whole body feels prickly with it, and the lightning scar on their arm is the most prickly of all. “That doesn’t answer the _why_ though.”

“Could be something in your ancestry, same as me,” Hamid says. “Doesn’t have to be a dragon. Could be fae. Could be something else, something extra-planar.” He looks frustrated for a moment, and a little bit sad. “Wish I could be of more help there. Beyond elementals, I don’t know very much. That was one of the classes I skipped in school.”

“You? Skip class?” Cel regards Hamid with this new information. “You didn’t strike me as the type.”

“Yeah, well, I was a different person then.” Hamid shakes his head, as if trying to dispel a bad memory. “But this isn’t about me.” His smile returns, shaky but present. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I should,” Cel says, then quickly amends their statement as Hamid’s face starts to fall. “No, I do! Part of me does! Talking with you has helped a lot! I just...” They rub at their arms, trying to dispel the prickling sensation that feels like it’s settling into their bones. “You know that feeling you get when you know there’s a thunderstorm coming, when you can feel the energy in the air and everything’s bright and exciting with anticipation?” They hardly notice Hamid shaking his head no. “It’s like that except all wrong, darkness and dread and...” They trail off as the realization comes to them, as the pieces fall into place. The anxiety, the electricity that had refused to settle, those had been _warnings_. 

The sky above decks is a pale and beautiful blue, only a few wisps of cloud breaking up the endlessness of it. Cel stares at it, only dimly aware that they’re shivering. They had taken off running without a coat, and now here they are under a sky without enough clouds to block the light of the sun for more than a second, the ever present wind no more forceful than usual. It’s a perfect day for flying, except it’s not, it’s _wrong_. The prickling of electricity along their skin feels like needles, the air around them so cold and heavy that they can barely breathe. They close their eyes and for a moment they swear the wind shapes itself into words, a roaring that they almost understand.

“Cel?” Zolf’s voice cuts into their thoughts. “What’s with all the cracklin’? Is something wrong?”

Words pour out of Cel before they even have their eyes open. “Zolf, you have to get everyone up here, there’s a storm coming, don’t ask me how I know, I don’t know how I know, how I always know, but it’s going to be bad, you have to believe me, I—“

Zolf’s already running for the bell, the ringing of it sharp and clear and sudden. Cel only has a moment to marvel at the fact that they were believed so quickly before Azu shouts something from the crow’s nest, the words lost over the sound of the bell, over the wind that’s suddenly become more forceful. Cel looks up to the sky as dark clouds boil out of nowhere, flashes of color swirling in their depths, pink and green and purple. It’s beautiful. It’s horrible. It’s _wrong._

“Wild magic storm!” Cel hears Earhart shout seconds before stinging multi-colored hail begins to fall, before the first bolt of lightning hits the deck, before the first crack of thunder nearly deafens everyone.

 _I should have installed lightning rods_ , Cel thinks, and it’s funny how calm the thought is when everything is chaos around them.

The ship lurches and _that’s_ what snaps Cel’s mind into crystal clear focus, has them running for the engine room as they shout each kobold’s name. Their world narrows to the sound of kobold claws clicking down the corridor behind them, to the sound of the main starboard engine groaning and grinding loudly even before they get to the engine room proper. The smell of overheating metal greets them when they open the door, but nothing is on fire, not yet, and if Cel was in the habit of thanking gods they would.

“Draal, Natun and Tadyka, divert power away from the main engine and keep an eye on engine two in case it starts going wrong. Driaak, Sassraa, and Meerk, you’re with me. Just like we practiced, yeah?”

They’ve run through scenarios for what to do in case of engine trouble or outright engine failure, and Cel is glad of that, even if their scenarios hadn’t included gears that disappear and reappear on a whim, or tools that crawl away on hundreds of tiny legs and need to be captured. All the while the ship rocks violently, which certainly doesn’t make anything easier, and Cel isn’t entirely sure if the electricity that sparks from their fingers as they make repairs helps or hurts the entire process.

“Please work,” Cel says as they tighten the last screw. “If you keep being an engine and stop going incorporeal I’ll buy you something nice when we get to Svalbard. The best engine oil they have. You’d like that, right?” They give one of the pistons a pat. “Okay. Engine two behaving?”

“Looks good!” Natun and Draal say in unison while Tadyka swats at a winged screw.

“Okay! Let’s reroute power back to the main engine and hope it doesn’t explode! Fingers crossed!”

They all watch the main engine start up again, and Cel can’t help but grin elatedly when the engine doesn’t explode or come to life as a very-cool looking but terrifying monster. The kobolds cheer, tails slapping against the floor in delight.

“You all did great!” Cel tells them. “I’d give you all a hug but I’m a little extra zappy today and I don’t want to hurt anyone. We’re not out of the woods yet, we need to keep an eye on things and make sure—“

Thunder cuts off Cel’s next words, loud enough that all other sounds become muffled as a high pitched whine echoes through Cel’s head. They barely have time to realize that the sound had come from _inside_ the ship before the ship itself goes into a dive. Cel goes from standing to slamming into a wall too fast to try and catch themself on anything, knocking the wind out of them. By the time they get their breath back the ship has leveled out again, but Cel knows what the sudden loss in elevation means.

“Is everyone all right?” Cel’s shout barely sounds as loud as normal speech over the ringing in their ears and the rapid beating of their heart. Just like it’s Cel and the kobold’s job to look after the engines, it’s Zolf and Hamid’s job to make sure the elementals don’t go wrong in a crisis, or to help contain them if they do. The ship isn’t still falling, so at least one elemental is still captive, but if anything else should happen….

Every kobold gives Cel a nod or a thumbs up, and Cel gives them a very quick nod and the very briefest of reassuring smiles. “Okay, Okay. I need to go check on something. Stay here and keep looking after the engines, I’ll be right back!” The last words are thrown over their shoulder as they go rushing out the door, one hand going for their crossbow and another going for a potion on their belt. It’s a potion of stoneskin they grab, not their mutagen, no room for wings here, for flight, the ceilings too low and the hallways too narrow. The potion smells like the earth after it rains, and that’s fitting somehow in the middle of a storm.

Cel smells ozone the instant they dash into the hallway, hears the rumble of thunder, too close, much too close before they even round the corner. The door to the elemental’s room, which Cel had built out of reinforced steel and Zolf had strengthened with spells, has been blown half off its hinges, the metal scorched and warped. The sight of that tells Cel a story even before they reach the threshold of the room and see the rest. One crystal shattered, shards smoky and dull like a burnt out electric lightbulb. The other two crystals, still intact for now, glowing brighter than Cel has ever seen them, like a circuit about to overload. Hamid sitting up only by the virtue of his back being against a wall, a shard of crystal sticking dagger-like out of one arm as his bloodied fingers move haltingly in the motions of a spell, eyes wide and glassy with shock. Zolf, down on one knee in front of Hamid, beard singed, smoke rising off of his armor and glaive alight as he glares up defiantly at the lighting elemental raging in front of him. The elemental’s roar is literally thunder as lightning streaks and flashes across its storm-cloud body, causing the other elemental crystals in the room to shiver and grow brighter.

They can’t fight here, not with all the magical and elemental energy in the air threatening to shatter the crystals apart. If the other two elementals get loose they’ll tear the ship apart long before they have to worry about crashing, and that can’t happen, it can’t, it _won’t._

 _“_ Hey!!” Cel has to shout to be heard over the wind and thunder of the raging elemental. “Hey, over here!”

Cel’s only plan is to get the creature’s attention, to draw it out of the room and maybe if Cel is very lucky, up onto the deck of the ship, to buy Zolf some time to heal Hamid and himself. The first part of the plan, getting its attention, is a success, as the twin blazes of lightning that serve as the creature’s eyes shift to focus on Cel. The second part works as well when the creature flies toward them with all the speed of a lightning bolt, too quick to dodge, too quick to run from, and slams them against a wall.

 _If I had a gold piece for every time that happened today, I’d have two gold pieces,_ Cel thinks, giddy on adrenaline as their head bounces off the wall. It barely hurts, the stoneskin potion is doing its job, and Cel is proud considering it had been their first time making it. The lightning that courses through the elemental’s arms and into Cel though, _that_ hurts, right through the skin and down to the bone, muscles contracting painfully as their heart beats stuttering Morse code messages, jaw clenched against a scream. Cel watches as their own personal sparks of lighting leap from their skin to arc through the elemental’s form as their vision goes gray and foggy around the edges, the elemental’s thunder of a roar an almost distant sound. It reminds Cel of their recurring dreams of being held in the heart of a storm, wind and thunder weaving together into something like language, something that Cel had always felt they _should_ know somehow. Listening to the elemental roar as its own personal storm winds whip around it, understanding suddenly falls into place.

 ** _“Home?_** ”

The word is both question and command, the thunder of the word leaving behind echoes, anger and loss and hope. Cel’s heart lurches painfully in their chest, and it’s only partially due to the electricity that’s coursing through it.

 _“I can’t,”_ Cel says, and the words are the fading breath of a dying wind, the distant rumble of thunder, the hum of electricity in the air. Hopefully they’ll be alive to study this language later, to learn the nuances of it, this beautiful language born of storms. Cel looks into the elemental’s eyes, the blue-white sparks bright even through the smoked glass of their goggles. “ _I don’t know how._ ”

The elemental roars once more, then sudden as a lightning flash it’s gone, revealing Zolf and Hamid standing behind where it once had been, Hamid’s hand still outstretched, the scent of heat and desert winds almost as strong as the scent of ozone, which is already beginning to dissipate.

“What—“ Cel takes a step and stumbles, falling to their knees. Zolf is there in an instant, his hands bearing magic that quiets Cel’s trembling muscles, that calms Cel’s erratically beating heart. Cel looks over Zolf’s shoulder to Hamid, who’s still covered in blood. “What did you do?”

“Sent— sent it home.” Hamid’s voice is shaking. “I hope. I’ve never actually cast that spell before.”

“That’s all it wanted,” Cel says softly. “To go home.”

Above them, the deck bell rings, sounding an all clear message. Cel goes to stand and sways dizzily as their heart does a skip.

“Right,” Zolf says, his tone all gruff and no nonsense, as if that cover up how worried he is and how much he cares. “Infirmary, both of you. Healing magic only does so much, doesn’t put the blood back in you or change the fact that you got electrocuted while trying to be a _distraction._ ”

“It wasn’t the plan,” Cel says. “But you have to admit that it was very distracting.” They take a swaying step and end up putting a hand on Zolf’s shoulder to steady themself, noting that they aren’t crackling with energy for the first time all day, now that the storm’s finally passed.

“Don’t have to admit anything,” Zolf says as Hamid leans against him on his other side. “Even if it helped.”

The infirmary bed isn’t nearly as comfortable as Cel’s own hammock in their opinion, but they still fall asleep almost immediately. Their dreams are filled with a vision of an endless sky stretching in all directions, clouds swirling all around them, and, in the distance, what Cel can only describe as a content rumble of thunder.

———

Cel stares into the mirror fastened to the wall in Hamid’s room, tilting their head thoughtfully. “Is there more silver in my hair than there used to be?”

“A little, I think,” Hamid says after a moment’s thought. “Wait, is the silver from being struck by lightning too?”

Cel shrugs. “Maybe? I noticed it after the first time, but it could just be an age thing?” Their brow furrows. “Don’t remember how old I was at the time. Hmmm. Still.” They take a new notebook out of their pocket, flipping past the first few dozen pages filled with notes and sketches on potential replacements for lightning elementals as a power source before coming to a page titled. ‘Changes brought on by close proximity to a lightning elemental.’ _Possibly more silver in hair_ , they write. It’s the third thing on the list, the first being the new language Cel can understand and speak, the language of wind and storms. The second is Cel’s eye color, which has gone from hazel to a stormy gray with little specks of brightness shining within, like lightning in clouds.

It’s been a few days since the wild magic storm, and the first day Cel’s been out of bed. Turns out multiple instances of being electrocuted on the regular do not, in fact, make your heart even stronger against that sort of damage. Cel honestly thinks this is pretty poor design, but that’s flesh for you.

Everyone above deck had weathered the storm fairly well, suffering no lasting damage or permanent changes from the wild magic. The ship had needed a few minor repairs, but nothing the kobolds hadn’t been able to handle. Sassraa had come in several times after their shift to keep Cel up to date on how the engines were doing, something Cel had been grateful for. When Cel had called them their first assistant engineer, Sassraa had blushed, scales going an even deeper red as their eyes had shone with pride.

Earhart had been by as well, and had managed to ask in a perfunctory and awkward way how Cel was doing before asking if there was any way to get the ship back up to its former speed without having to find a place to stop and get a new elemental crystal fitted to replace the one that had been destroyed. Cel had shaken their head, thinking about alternate power sources, about research and design. Right now the only replacement for a lost elemental was another elemental. Maybe someday Cel could change that.

“Cel?” Hamid holds out his magical purple robe to them. “Still want to try this on?”

“Oh! Right, sorry!” Cel stops staring at the words they’ve just written and smiles, tucking their notebook away, a few sparks of electricity betraying their excitement as they take the robe from Hamid. The robe changes in their hands, lengthening and widening to fit someone of Cel’s size.

“I don’t know if anything will happen, but it’s—“ The rest of Hamid’s sentence is cut off by a knock on the door just seconds before it opens.

“Hamid, have you seen Cel? They…” Zolf trails off as he steps into the room fully and sees Cel standing in front of the mirror.

Cel smiles sheepishly and gives a little wave. “Hi.”

Zolf gives Cel a look and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are a terrible patient.”

“Yes!” Cel agrees whole-heartedly. “I get told that a lot. But I’m _fine,_ Zolf. My heart only did _one_ little hiccupy skip on the walk over here, and I was only out of breath for a moment or two afterwards. Hamid didn’t even notice.”

“Cel!” Hamid looks appalled. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you’d make me go back to the infirmary and if I had to be in bed one second longer I was going to start building things out of the medical supplies just to relieve the boredom, and we _need_ those.”

Zolf sighs heavily and crosses the room, laying a gentle hand on Cel’s arm and muttering a few words. The warmth that spreads through Cel is familiar, as is the way a few lingering aches suddenly cease. “I _should_ march you right back to bed regardless.”

“But you won’t?” Cel asks hopefully.

Zolf sighs again. “Just tell me what you’re doing in here with Hamid’s fancy robes?”

“Experiments!” Cel says gleefully.

“Magic!” Hamid says at almost exactly the same time, grinning.

“Right.” Zolf sighs again. “All right, I’m not going to stop you. Unless there’s a chance of something exploding.”

“I mean, there might be a very _small_ chance,” Cel says. “You never can tell with magic.”

“Nothing is going to explode,” Hamid says firmly. “Either the robes won’t do anything, or they’ll give us a clue as to why Cel has an affinity for lightning. That’s all.”

Cel had told Zolf what they had told Hamid while they had been stuck in bed, about how lightning had been an ever present part of their life, had told both of them the one word the freed lightning elemental had said to them. Zolf had looked thoughtful then, just as he looks thoughtful now.

“I mean, I have a theory…” Zolf says.

“Oh?” Both Cel and Hamid say at once, but Zolf shakes his head.

“Do the robe thing first. Maybe I’m wrong and you’ll suddenly sprout bronze dragon scales and start breathin’ electricity. Earhart would have a whole litter of kittens over that.”

“I wouldn’t _object_ ,” Cel says as they shake out the robe and start putting their arms through the sleeves. “To the dragon part I mean. I don’t _think_ that’s what this is, but—“ They stop talking abruptly as they finish donning the robe, overcome by the sudden, familiar prickling sensation of electricity moving along their skin. They look in the mirror and between one blink and the next, their appearance changes. Suddenly Cel looks paler, thinner, their gray eyes blazing the color of lightning as their hair moves as if caught in a breeze, sparks crackling off their skin as the scars that lightning has given them glow brightly even through their clothing.

 _“Oh_ ,” Hamid breathes softly as he approaches Cel, seemingly in awe.

“Not bad!” Cel says as they regard themself in the mirror. “Little too thin. Could use some wings, maybe some claws. I could get used to this, except I won’t, I’ll give the robe back, obviously, but maybe I could replicate the effect with mutagen…” Cel whips out their notebook again, scribbling furiously.

“Are you… are you _critiquing_ the appearance of your mystical arcane heritage?” Hamid asks, somehow sounding both amused and aghast. He’s touching the back of their robe, fingers moving across the magical silk embroidery.

“I mean, it’s _mine,”_ Cel says. “I would think I’m allowed. Always room for improvement.” They hear Zolf chuckling as they turn their head to look over their shoulder at Hamid. “So what does it say? Does it have a family tree like yours?”

“No,” Hamid says. “It’s just symbols. Clouds, lightning bolts, swirls that I would assume represent wind. So, nothing we didn’t already know. Nothing we can put a name to.” He sounds a little disappointed.

“I can,” Zolf says, and Cel and Hamid both turn to look at him. He smiles slightly. “Nice knowing something about magic that the two of you don’t. Doesn’t happen very often.”

“Well don’t keep us in suspense!” Cel cries. The words are accompanied by a gust of wind that blows through Zolf’s hair and he chuckles as Cel blinks in surprise.

“Yeah, that confirms it. You’re a sylph, Cel.”

“A what?” Hamid asks.

“I’m with Hamid,” Cel says, pen poised over their notebook. “Enlighten us?”

“Well,” Zolf says. “You got the Elemental Plane of Air, right? S’where lightning and air elementals come from, but they’re not the only things living there. There’s djinn, which are like, if air elementals were ten foot tall, weighed a thousand pounds, and had more in the way of brains. I guess they’re—“ Zolf wiggles one hand in a vague way, “— _compatible_ with folks here on the Material Plane, and sometimes they have kids and certain traits get passed along. Had a navigator on _The Sea Troll_ who called themself Zephyr, swore that their great-great grandfather was a djinn. Tall and thin and pale as sea foam he was. Predicted the weather for us every morning, and they were always right. Never had to worry about being becalmed either, Zephyr could talk the wind itself into blowing in our favor. And when they got angry, the air around them would get angry too. Never did any lightning stuff,” Zolf says with a shrug. “But maybe it’s just like with regular people, sometimes certain traits get passed down and some don’t.”

“A sylph…” Hamid says. “Cel, what do you think?”

“It sounds likely,” Cel says. “And it _feels_ right _,_ which is important. We could do some tests… I wonder if I could predict weather that _isn’t_ storms…” They trail off, looking at Zolf.

“You want to do this _now?_ ” Zolf asks incredulously. “Wait, of course you do.”

Cel’s had many years to practice their sad puppy dog look and they put it to practice now.

“That’s not going to work,” Zolf says, but Cel swears they detect a certain hesitancy in his tone.

“The fresh air would probably do Cel good, Zolf, don’t you think?” Hamid asks, his voice all smooth and honey sweet. Cel sees he’s perfected his own pleading look, all big eyes and pouty lips.

“Not you _too_ ,” Zolf groans. “Fine. But you’re putting on a coat over that fancy robe, and if you overexert yourself and pass out I’m going to put you on bed rest for a _week._ ”

Cel gives an excited little squeak and a gust of wind blows through the room, carrying the scent of summer storms with it.

Above deck the air is chilly, but Cel barely feels it as they stand between Hamid and Zolf, looking up at the bright blue sky. They’re not sure if the mystery that has followed them since birth has been completely solved, but that’s all right. They have a theory and, more importantly, they have their friends. With a smile, skin alight with electricity and anticipation, Cel closes their eyes and listens to the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> So *originally* this was going to be a *maybe* 1,000-2000 word fic that would have mentioned some of Cel's previous encounters with lightning, ending with them manifesting their blue (or bronze) draconic heritage while fighting an escaped lightning elemental, like one does, because I love the idea of Cel and Hamid being dragon buddies. (Also did you know blue and bronze dragons have an aura of electricity? Makes you think.) 
> 
> 9000+ words later, Cel is basically a [stormsoul sylph](http://www.d20pfsrd.com/races/other-races/featured-races/arg-sylph/) (think air genasi except lightning) with a few little twists and some alternate racial traits.
> 
> Sidenote: Kobold names were taken off the Rusty Quill Gaming Wiki, which got them from Bryn on the Discord. Thank gods, I never would have come close to the proper spelling without that.
> 
> Anyway, enough technical commentary. I hope everyone enjoyed this little thought experiment that got a *tiny* bit out of hand!
> 
> I’m [angel-ascending](http://angel-ascending.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr and [angel_in_ink](http://twitter.com/angel_in_ink) over on Twitter if y’all want to stop by and say hi!


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